


Surrender

by Nununununu



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Captivity, Caretaking, Consensual Sex, Emotionally Repressed, Feelings Realization, Hand Jobs, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, No noncon between main characters, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Noncon in sense sex pollen is forced on character to torment, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rescue, Robot/Human Relationships, Sex Pollen, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: All that matters is that they think he’s desperate. It’s of no concern if a part of him really is.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/K-2SO
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107
Collections: Heat Fic Summer 2020





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ratbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbat/gifts).



> For Ratbat. Your idea about sex pollen angst with a happy ending and with third parties as the perpetrators intrigued me :)
> 
> TW for non-graphic violence and general unpleasantness during captivity, including casual discussion of potential rape, attempted humiliation and objectification. Noncon in the sense of forced use of sex pollen as an aphrodisiac to entertain captors and torment.
> 
> (Originally posted 20.06; date updated for author reveals)

In the end, Cassian holds out for nearly six hours.

\---

They string him up in the officers’ lounge.

Wire is wrapped around his wrists, his arms suspended over his head, strung from a fixture seemingly set there for this very purpose; he’s not the first prisoner to have been displayed in such a manner. He’s half-dressed, trousers unbuckled, hanging low on his hips; worn civilian shirt torn open down the front – he should have a series of scars across one side of his lower ribs. The junior officer responsible for ripping his shirt open had laughed at scattering buttons and called him pretty as he ran his gloved hand over the patch of synth skin. It’s far from a professional quality job – Cassian hadn’t expected to end up naked for the mission, yet had concealed the scars anyway just in case, but the supplies he had been able to source had not been up to much.

Still, the officer’s hand had descended, stroking Cassian’s hip like one might the flank of an animal one had just purchased – watching him do this, Cassian had not allowed himself the luxury of thinking about what an idiot the man was – and then had pulled back and backhanded Cassian across the mouth, the non-regulation ring the man wore slicing through a corner of his lip.

He’d let himself reel, stumbling back against a trooper for added effect, forcing them to hold him up or be knocked off balance themselves. The metal wasn’t even poisoned. If K-2 were here in Cassian’s place, he’d quite possibly be pointing out all the opportunities these idiots have missed.

If K-2 were here in Cassian’s place, in fact, he’d have the job done already and be back on the ship. But Cassian had seen an opportunity and made a split-second decision to be spotted, and not in a way he could evade. Slipped into the persona he’d been wearing around town outside the base, talked fast and got himself knocked around a few times – distracted them that way from the data chip he’d slid into the gap sliced into the upper edge of his belt – and the officers hadn’t even bothered to verify his identity beyond a few cursory checks that immediately came back positive, thanks to K-2 earlier hacking the local network.

It’s clearly not a Rebel spy these Imperials are after right now, although Cassian’s under no illusion that they wouldn’t change their minds upon working it out.

Laughter swells from another corner of the lounge; Cassian is too well-trained to narrow his eyes or look in that direction, but the persona he’s wearing would and so he does.

He’s not even the main attraction here.

Some of the predominantly young officers present are gathered around a cursorily gyrating Twi’lek and have begun roughhousing amongst themselves while offering predictable commentary about the dancer, while others are taking bets over a couple of wrestling Stormtroopers, waved into the room by the same officer who saw Cassian strung up. There’s almost an air of festivity to it all – it’s a local holiday, the minor Imperial base of very little strategic importance beyond terrorising the populace for the grains that are then shipped out to the Empire’s kitchens, and what higher ranking officers there are have been called up to the Star Destroyer currently circling the backwater planet. It’s much like this is somewhere the Empire places the younger sons and daughters who don’t quite cut it in training – the ones foisted off on the military by wealthy, influential supporters who will make an inconvenient fuss if their pampered offspring either go ‘missing’ or see much or any action at all.

His toes can reach the carpeted floor – if the opportunity were to present itself, he would be able to brace a foot on the wall, hoist himself up and grab onto the fixture to remove the wire he’s been covertly working looser since he was strung up. Really, he’s surrounded by amateurs.

Aside from the drug coursing through his veins, thick and heady and entirely unwelcome, the whole thing would practically be easy. _Too_ easy, as K-2 would say.

He would be right, of course.

Around an hour into it, the drug starts _really_ taking effect, although Cassian still has more than enough wherewithal to resist it. He can’t afford to, though – not too much, or it will be noticed.

No opportunity for escape has come yet, after all, and he’s unwilling to _make_ one so far, given he’s already obtained several pieces of information to pass onto the Rebellion – nothing grand or immediately essential, but all fragments of a bigger picture. He’s under too much scrutiny now, as well – a trio of junior officers having descended to a nearby couch to watch him, commenting in a similar manner to those over the Twi-lek. Remarking on his flush, the dampness of his hair. The harshness of his breath and the tightness of his nipples, the way his stomach sucks in with each breath.

The rigid hardness of his cock.

Cassian’s had experience with aphrodisiacs in the past, if not the exact version used here – it’s almost like this one is based on something natural somehow, rather than synthetic chemical. He knows how to control his body when under the influence of the Empire’s most commonly used drugs and how to make it perform when necessary due to a honeypot mission or undercover work. He knows how to push through conditions immensely more difficult than this current scenario and how to take pain and turn it into a facsimile of pleasure, and how to keep going and going and going. For the sake of the Rebellion, he will always keep going.

And yet.

The aphrodisiac is insidiously pervasive, even more invasive than those he’s encountered before, insistently seeking to erode his free will. His body’s arousal leeching at his brain, stealing his ability to concentrate, all of his attention straining against his refusal to allow it to centre on his aching cock.

And it does ache. This part isn’t feigned. It aches and it _aches_ and it goes untouched, and all Cassian really wants – all the _drug_ has him really want – is for someone to touch it.

No.

Not ‘someone’ – deep down Cassian knows full well who he wants. But that’s not something he can think about, possibly not ever and certainly not now.

Refusing himself the vulnerability of an unguarded blink, he forces himself to internally refocus and represses such thoughts. Firms the part of his mind always concentrating on what is happening around him – who is letting slip a name, who is casually referring to the codename of an Imperial plan the Rebels have been searching for greater information about, who is betting illegal currency on the tussling Stormtroopers. This is why Cassian screwed up and let himself be captured. This is what’s important; this is why he’s here. The fact his cock is straining against his unbuckled trousers is unimportant. The head smearing visible dampness against the material doesn’t matter and nor does the painful tightness of his balls.

He is intently, unforgettably aware that his situation could be so much worse.

But still.

Two hours and a half into it, the effects of the aphrodisiac are strong enough that were the occupants of this room to let him down from the fixture and free his hands, it’s quite possible Cassian would fall on the floor heedless of his surroundings and audience, his hands kneading and rubbing and pumping his cock without even bothering to take off his trousers, throwing his head back and arching his spine as he comes and –

_No._

“Aw, he’s trembling,” One of the officers remarks to the others, seeming to remember his presence after some time spent on conversation so banal it’s a struggle for Cassian, in his extremity, not to tune out, “Do you reckon he’d squeal if we tugged his nipples? I bet he’d look so pretty all desperate like that.”

That word again. Cassian’s been called many things in his time; this is one of them. His persona would preen at it, so he does. It would also start begging them in not too long.

This part he’s going to hold off on for as long as is believable. If the situation changes, maybe for longer than that.

“I bet if I grabbed that cock and just jacked it like anything, he’d come so fast and be so fucking grateful for it,” The other replies, and this is nothing Cassian hasn’t heard before, nothing he hasn’t heard from officers, from Stormtroopers, from gang members, from – the list goes on.

His cock still jerks at the suggestion all the same. This is something he can _make_ it do if the situation calls for it, but –

It’s possible he doesn’t make it now.

“I bet he’d thank you from his knees,” The first speaker smirks.

“Just look at him, he’d be pleading for it if he could,” A third drawls in mock-sympathy, and Cassian is momentarily tempted to roll his eyes internally, because – most of them are young, yes, even younger than he is, but these idiots are unimaginatively predictable and careless with it. K-2 would be groaning in boredom; Cassian just continues to file away weaknesses. Behind the false politeness of their fixed smile, the Twi’lek dancer’s expression is equally jaded.

The door to the lounge slides open without warning.

Everything changes from then on.

\---

The senior officer who stands there silhouetted is unfamiliar.

Everything about her screams _Imperial_ nonetheless as she steps into the room, from the hair scraped tightly back over her head with not a strand out of place, to her stiff creaseless uniform and spotless gloves, to the way it seems as if all emotion aside from disapproval has been chiselled out of the hard planes of her face.

“Morons!” she barks into the lounge at large, to which the young officers react with a swift attempt at the professionalism they had been lacking until now, and to which Cassian lets his persona hazily half-consider with hooded eyes, while seeming more concerned with his personal predicament.

“You – out,” The senior officer orders the Twi’lek dancer, who scurries to leave, then pierces the quailing Stormtroopers with a withering glare before dismissing them, and completely ignores Cassian in favour of awarding the younger officers with a scalding dressing down.

Cassian’s heard no few of these in his time, including while masquerading as an Imperial himself. He’s never witnessed one while hanging from arms that are starting to go numb however he subtly acts to avert this, and with his cock adamantly tenting his trousers and refusing to go down.

“And what is this here,” The senior officer finally gets around to eyeballing his erection like she would a stain a cadet had failed to scrub off the floor.

_Practice_ , it turns out the explanation is.

“Practice?” The senior officer approaches to undertake a closer inspection. Cassian remains in place, watches her without appearing to watch too closely, keeps his breathing ragged to the extent he judges is appropriate and – with some effort, thanks to the drug to a far greater extent than the proximity – to control his heartbeat.

For the benefit of the audience more than the senior officer, he makes himself shift uneasily and work his jaw a bit like he wants to speak – perhaps to plead for mercy. Perhaps to seek to make a deal. Perhaps to curse the lot of them and this whole set up.

All that matters is that they think he’s desperate. It’s of no concern if a part of him really is.

“Hm,” The senior officer paces a slow semi-circle around him. Considers the scrape of his boots brushing the floor, the remains of his civilian clothing, the knots tied in the wires around his wrists and the sour-tasting gag in his mouth he’s long ago tuned out. Cassian is so thirsty the clear, fresh glass of water a chastened junior officer hands her superior is debatably more difficult to tolerate than the incessant clamouring of his cock.

“Pathetic,” Is the senior officer’s pronouncement once she’s taken her time sipping, a statement that seems to involve both himself and her underlings.

This established, she then gathers the younger officers around to observe, and proceeds to demonstrate how it _should_ be done.

\---

They let him alone after a few hours, a couple of troopers left to stand on guard three paces in front of him with their backs turned.

Cassian’s arms and shoulders are hurting. His cock is hurting more than it ever has before. His balls are – he’s not thinking about them. His legs are numb.

All things considered, it’s still a cushy job. No one dragged him down from the fixture. No one saw fit to put him _on his knees_. No one required _thanking_ or _jacked it like anything_.

No one even sought to interrogate him. This, of everything, is perhaps the most inexplicable. After the demonstration saw him freshly drugged another two times amongst a fair amount of lecturing on the proper application of bindings, Cassian is not about to admit he would have freely told them any of his carefully prepared mistruths on only a marginal amount of prompting. And this –

The fact that his will eroded so far; that he almost became undone by the sheer extent of his prolonged arousal –

This is beyond shameful.

The fact that, after nearly six hours of this, he is actually coming close to begging, to pleading for the two troopers guarding him to just _please please please let him touch himself_ _he’ll be so good if they do_ is –

No.

No.

_This_ , this of all things will not prove enough to break him. He is not going to crack. The bits and pieces of intel he’s been able to gather have to have been worth it. They have to be. Every scrap of information that can help the Alliance counts, so he is _not going to crack_.

He is not –

\---

Consciousness returns to Cassian some time later, when the door slides open and a familiar silhouette this time appears.

His heart surges. Inappropriately, so does his cock.

The troopers guarding him barely have time to swing around to face the new figure that steps into the room before they are dispatched with no little prejudice, K-2’s programming taking them down with extreme ease. And then Cassian is left there, suspended, jaw tense and everything else about him screaming, his body almost beyond pleading for release –

Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it, he is _fucked_ –

“What _have_ you got yourself into this time?” Before Cassian can get himself together at all, K-2 takes a final step over, snaps the wire with a simple twist of metal fingers and catches him as his legs collapse.

“Thanks,” He struggles to swallow in the fruitless attempt to normalise his voice when K-2 next prises away the gag.

“I trust the experience was worth it,” is the dry response, to which Cassian can only manage a grunt, the sound thankfully covered by the fact K-2 then tosses him up over a durasteel shoulder – far more gently than the droid might normally do, something which Cassian is simultaneously grateful for and intensely mortified by.

“While I have disposed of those immediately responsible for your capture, reinforcements will shortly arrive. As we near the hangar bay, we are likely to need to fight our way out,” K-2 informs him, stooping to collect the troopers’ blasters with one arm slung around Cassian’s hips to prevent sliding, “I presume you retain the ability to aim?”

“Yes,” Cassian shoves down his awareness of his body, shoves down everything else, and accepts the blaster his friend gives him, “I’ll cover your back.”

Alarms have begun going off elsewhere in the base.

“Seeing as you are facing that way,” A hint of humour colours K-2’s response as he strides over to the door, “If it becomes necessary, please do.”

\---

It does become necessary.

Their flight away from the planet also involves a fair amount of drama courtesy of the Star Destroyer and the ships that pour out of it, but Cassian is only aware of this peripherally, given K-2 stuffs him into a seat in the galley almost as soon as the ramp is closed, deposits a small pressurised bacta spray into Cassian’s hands, and vanishes into the cockpit to deal with their pursuers.

In the turbulent flight that follows, Cassian can only be grateful that his friend thought to plug him in. His hands are essentially useless – he was strung up long enough that the wire dug deep into his wrists, the senior officer having efficiently remedied his loosening it – and the knowledge that the bacta is all they have available on the ship for the foreseeable future, given the Alliance’s limited resources, is all that keeps Cassian holding onto it.

“Cassian,” K-2 appears once the ship is in hyperspace, a canteen of water and sick bag in one hand, and a standard antidote in the other. Kneeling in front of Cassian, he plucks the bacta spray out of Cassian’s hands, jabs him with the antidote in the neck and waves the sick bag at him, to which Cassian manages to huff a negation.

“I regret we can’t spare much of this, even if you are an idiot,” K-2 next takes Cassian’s hands in his much larger ones and applies a sparing amount of the bacta.

Cassian would refuse even this much usually, except –

“I know I am,” He can barely speak, caught by the sight and feeling of his friend’s hands rubbing life and sensation back into his fingers and palms and then his wrists, the droid’s movements careful and precise, each pass of durasteel fingertips chasing away the worst of the pain.

There’s something about it – about the fact K-2 has never touched him like this before and that Cassian would not accept it from anyone else; the fact K-2 could just have sprayed his hands and then left him to the rest.

There’s also the fact that just this alone is enough to shoot fierce sensations of _want_ through Cassian, enough for him to physically shake with it, as if his fingers are directly connected to his cock. That’s just the drug though – the antidote’s worn off a slight amount of its sharpest edges and some of its other secondary effects. But it’s not specifically tailored to deal with an aphrodisiac, let alone three doses’ worth, and all the arousal that has plagued Cassian for over six hours now is still there.

“Drink,” K-2 uncaps the water next, holding the canteen to his mouth, and Cassian almost chokes a little, unexpected anxiety surging inside him in a way it hasn’t about any of the rest of it – the senior officer had drunk several times during her demonstration, as had her subordinates; she’d made a point of seeing them hydrated in front of him.

Cassian had held out, just as he’d held out against the aphrodisiac, but the thirst had become immensely difficult to endure – he can admit that now if only to himself – exacerbated as it was by the drug, and he’s shaking more than ever as K-2 adjusts the angle of the canteen and holds it in place again so he can sip.

“I can take it from here,” Cassian says lowly after a few cautious mouthfuls and some time informing his body it’s not going to throw up. He promptly proves himself wrong when his hands spasm badly on trying to lift them.

“If you insist,” This is K-2 at his most doubtful, and the dry tone helps Cassian regain a little of his equilibrium. It also helps him to maintain it when the droid next tips his head, systems running slightly louder in the manner he knows full well equates a scan, and bright optics lower to the persistent erection Cassian has no hope of hiding, his friend’s body language the equivalent of a human raising an eyebrow, “I assume you will tell me you can deal with this aspect. Will it be necessary for me to quote medical files regarding the potential dangers of prolonged physical arousal without –”

“No,” On one level, Cassian doesn’t intentionally interrupt, while he very much does intend to on another. He can sigh now, in K-2’s presence, and slump forwards a little even though it just makes things even more uncomfortably painful – everything is painful, although the worst by far is the sharp torment of his cock, “No Kay, you don’t need to tell me about that.”

Reaching out for the bacta spray, Cassian stares at his hand until the fingers open stiffly, his arm feeling odd and unlike his own – partially healed but not yet enough, the low dose of bacta both insufficient to fully complete the work and slowing the process as it is. He goes to flex them, informing them that they can and will hold onto the spray, and another spasm shakes him, this time with an accompanying jolt shooting up into his shoulder.

Caught between this and the agony of his long unaddressed arousal, Cassian can’t prevent his shallow gasp, and nor can he stop himself from tipping over that much further, bowing towards his friend.

“Cassian,” K-2 catches him, quickly transferring both water and spray into one hand and closing the other gently over Cassian’s shoulder, guiding him in against the droid’s chassis.

“Sorry,” Cassian has to close his eyes, forehead against the unbidden comfort of cool durasteel.

“Don’t apologise for _that_ ,” K-2 responds, which means there are other things Cassian should be apologising for, doesn’t it, not only the salient fact that his friend had been stationed off-planet deliberately and had broken orders to extract Cassian without being signalled to do so, something that would be yet another black mark against the droid.

Cassian will argue that he _did_ implicitly order this. He would also argue that the mark should go on his record, except that would involve the implication that he is K-2’s owner and Master, and both he and his friend have strong feelings about this.

There aren’t many things Cassian will confess to having strong feelings on, and his friend’s autonomy is one of them.

“Brace yourself if you want,” K-2 continues when it becomes apparent Cassian is unable to stand even with a metal hand under his elbow. His friend gets an arm beneath him, scoops him up like that, and then carries Cassian through the ship’s narrow corridor to dump him on his narrow bunk in his cabin.

“Ah –” Even just the bounce of his ass on the hard mattress is enough to make Cassian groan.

When K-2 next nudges him into lying down, unzips his trousers and unceremoniously frees his cock to apply the bacta, everything culminates, and Cassian has to fling his wrist up over his eyes, muffling a shout at a feeling like a hard punch to the gut as orgasm tears through him, clawing right into his body as if trying to scrape out his bones.

“Hold still; this is necessary,” There’s static along with something much like sympathy audible in K-2’s vocabulator as he uses finger and thumb to angle Cassian’s still hard cock to apply the bacta, and it’s purely prosaic, but enough to rip a second orgasm out of him all the same, almost unbearably fast.

“Turn,” Cassian gets out when its finished wracking his body, the arousal none the lesser for it, and he sounds _awful_ , raw and vulnerable in a way he’ll take himself to task over later, when he can think, “Will you turn me over. Please.”

“Of course,” K-2 doesn’t hesitate thankfully, just sets a hand to Cassian’s hip and flips him effortlessly on his bunk.

“You don’t have to stay,” Cassian’s got a hand gripping his thin pillow before he knows it, creasing the worn cover, his forehead pressed against it much like it was against K-2’s chest even though it’s a poor substitute, his weight propped on his elbow as his body screams for him to rut into his mattress, “You don’t have to –”

“I’m aware I don’t have to,” Going by his tone, K-2 is rolling his optics, “I will monitor you remotely until the bacta has had time to work if you wish me to leave.”

“I –” Cassian’s hips have begun rocking without the agreement of his conscious mind and he’s not quite strong enough to stop them, not anymore, “I – Kay, don’t.” He has to screw his eyes closed at the admission, “Please. Don’t go.”

He has to force down further words that seek to spill out of him. It’s not so much that he doesn’t want to be alone. It’s that he doesn’t want K-2 to leave him. Which is –

He’ll think about that at a later point, too.

“Perhaps it might be helpful if I observe that this isn’t the most compromising state I’ve seen you in,” K-2 muses, settling down next to Cassian’s bunk once more. He also rests his hand very lightly against the small of Cassian’s back.

True, genuine desire – the first of it he’s felt in this entire experience – leaps into Cassian’s throat and he moans. He also spills over a third time, finally able to register it as something approaching pleasurable. His toes curl within his boots.

“That’s it, Cassian, like that,” K-2, of course, notices the difference at once, “I’m glad you’ve decided to be sensible. The antidote clearly wasn’t sufficient and nor was the bacta, not when it comes to dealing with certain elements of an overdose of such a powerful aphrodisiac, and –”

The sound of his voice is like a lifeline – it’s even comforting to be lectured, in a sense. Cassian holds onto the familiar cadence and tone, just as he holds onto the feeling of K-2’s hand on his back – the broad palm, fingers and thumb easily able to span his waist – the thought of the size difference between them and how it would look if K-2 were to, say, climb up onto the bunk and straddle him –

“ _Hah_ ,” Orgasm pounds through him again, wilder now, his teeth aching with it. His eyes are damp, but it feels good, it feels _good_ , and that’s almost enough to undo him completely.

Awareness goes away for a little while, but when he comes back to himself, there are fingers cradling his head, encouraging him to turn back over and lift up to sip some more water, and then K-2 simply brushes through his sweaty hair.

“Kay, I’m –” Cassian hooks his fingers in his friend’s wrist joint, both of his hands assailed with pin prick cramps, his breath coming short and harsh as he registers that he’s _still hard_.

Arousal floods through him again at the realisation, unwelcome as before, although –

Although.

“I am willing to help if you want me to,” K-2 offers, as Cassian had known – _hoped_ – he would, “Stimulation is proving as effective a tactic as expected, although it is apparent you have some way to go before returning to a baseline state.”

Cassian can’t verbally reply, just as he can’t open his eyes to look at his friend. But he can nod, and so he does.

The feeling of cool metal fingers wrapping around the base of his cock strikes through him harder than anything else so far, drawing away some of the heat there, dragging a spill of precome out of his slit before they even move.

“As much as I might have expected to find such leakages unpleasant, this is less so than it could be,” His tone contemplative if anything, K-2 brushes his thumb up the length of Cassian’s shaft, collecting the liquid however he typically disdains organic fluids, “Perhaps it’s because I understand now that there is a practical side to it.”

Fuck, but hearing him say such things should _not_ be arousing. _Fuck_ , but it is all the same. Cassian finds himself hard put not to cry out sharply at the first pump of those slick fingers, just as he is hard put not to wrap his hand around K-2’s and do his utmost to increase the pace.

“Ah – K – _hah_ –” He is _not_ going to say his friend’s name. Not like this. Not when K-2’s surely only doing it as a favour.

Cassian hates himself greatly at this thought.

Still, this is better than anything so far, _far_ better in fact, and his hips are soon rocking up in the attempt to hurry that almost torturously slow slide up and down.

“ _Please_ ,” The request is more air than anything. He clutches at the sheets, clenches his teeth against a whine.

“Hm?” K-2 – K-2 _lets go_ , and Cassian comes very close to begging him to come back, except his friend then does catch hold of his cock all over again, and this time his fingers are even slicker than before, sticky and wet in a way that lights up Cassian’s every nerve.

“I would appreciate it if you could assist with cleaning my joints sufficiently to prevent corrosion later,” is K-2’s comment, and Cassian is powerless not to laugh.

“Anything,” Regrettably it emerges much like a sob. He can’t stop talking even so, “Of course I’ll help, Kay, I’ll – anything. Faster. Will you. Would you mind? Please. _Please_. Faster – I need –”

He wants to ask K-2 to just _jack it like anything_.

“Of course,” K-2 shrugs – Cassian might not have his eyes open, but he knows the creak of his friend’s servos better than he knows himself much of the time, and that hand stirs around him properly at last, working at his cock until his whole body feels like its lighting up with brilliant pleasure, Cassian holding onto his friend’s wrist with white knuckles, his other hand flying down to cover over K-2’s, not to compel him into moving any differently, but just to hang on.

“Kay – _Kay_ –” His determination not to call his friend’s name scatters along with all the rest of his thoughts. Cassian spreads his knees wider, thrusts his hips up hard, and shudders through an orgasm that feels even more powerful than the previous ones.

“Yes Cassian, very good, just like that,” K-2’s systems are running faster than ever, Cassian realises even as he’s spurred into a final burst of orgasm by the praise, aftershocks going off in his belly when K-2’s thumb grazes the oversensitive head of his cock.

The pain’s nearly gone now, leaving only languorous melting desire that spreads warmth over him as he guides K-2’s hand without thinking too much about it, rocking up almost lazily into his friend’s grip, coaxing K-2’s fingers into gliding over his shaft all over again.

“Is this –” He still has to ask though, “Kay, is – is this still okay?”

There’s a short but noticeable pause before K-2 responds, a very long time for a droid; he’s distracted, processing something, although he also seems entirely intent on their hands.

“You would know if it wasn’t,” That static is back in his voice, along with an unfamiliar hum to the words, and Cassian’s brow wrinkles into a frown.

K-2 shifts the hand not on Cassian’s cock up to close around his own, fingers curling around Cassian’s, thumb stroking his palm. And this – this is somehow more intimate than everything else they’ve done so far, this little touch –

It pierces through Cassian into parts of him he never thought he’d acknowledge, illuminates them in the colour of K-2’s optics and the dazzling glow of his core, and in this instant Cassian knows then _exactly_ what his feelings for his friend are, even if this isn’t anything like approaching the time to even begin to deal with it.

Once the afterglow of the orgasm that ripples through him fades, gentler and kinder to the rest of his body now, he has to wonder if he will ever deal with it. If he won’t parcel it away again, pushing it back down –

But K-2’s fans are spinning as quickly as he’s ever heard them, the droid’s vents hissing as they shunt the excess heat away from delicate hardware, his fingers warm by now against Cassian’s finally softening cock.

He’s so far signally failed to let go.

Cassian very much doesn’t want him to. He wants to ask if K-2 is aroused by what happened – if it’s _possible_ for his friend to be aroused, which it’s certainly looking like it – and if K-2 will allow him to help in return.

Excitement thrills through him as he meets K-2’s optics, releasing his hold on the droid’s hand to touch his fingertips to the centre of K-2’s chestplate.

“Kay,” Cassian starts, and finds that he badly fumbles, beset by the need to touch and give pleasure in return. Wanting this more than anything the drug made him want; more than anything he can ever recall. “Are you – will you let me. Do you want me to. Can I. _Please._ It’s okay if you don’t –”

“ _Cassian_ ,” K-2 sways on his knees towards Cassian, much as Cassian did towards him earlier, and there’s a wealth of emotion in his body language. He leans in carefully to rest his forehead against Cassian’s, optics bright with interest, his voice splitting into multiple tones, all of them yearning, “All of it – anything that you will. Please. I am. _Yes_.”


End file.
